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Why I Won't Survive the Apocalypse. Pt. 2…

[Scene: Chandler and Joey’s apartment. Chandler and Joey are sitting at the bar, in their bathrobes, eating cereal]

Joey: Man this is weird. You ever realize Captain Crunch’s eyebrows are actually on his hat?

Chandler:: Joey, that’s what’s weird? Joey, the man’s been captain of a cereal for the last 40 years.

(Joey finishes his cereal, licks his spoon, and puts it back in the silverware drawer.)

Chandler:: Waaa-aaah.

Joey: What?

Chandler:: The spoon. You licked and-and you put. You licked and you put.

Joey: Yeah, so?

Chandler:: Well don’t you see how gross that is? I mean that’s like you using my toothbrush. [Joey gets a sheepish look] You used my toothbrush?

Joey: Well, that was only ’cause I used the red one to unclog the drain.

Chandler:: Mine is the red one! Oh God. Can open, worms everywhere.

Joey: Hey, why can’t we use the same toothbrush, but we can use the same soap?

Chandler:: Because soap is soap. It’s self-cleaning.

Joey: All right, well next time you take a shower, think about the last thing I wash and the first thing you wash.

This is the opening scene to FRIENDS: Season 2, episode 16.

I love Friends. I started watching when the pilot episode originally aired and never missed an episode. I laughed. I cried. I laughed some more. To this day, I know that it airs in syndication every afternoon for 2 hours on TBS, and every night for 2 hours on Nick at Night. And I watch as often as possible. It is one of the few sitcoms that still holds up after all these years–every single episode can make me laugh out loud. And we quote the show with regularity in this household. At least once a day something will happen that reminds us of an episode or a funny line. And I always find it amusing when that happens. At least…until 2 nights ago.

It was nearly 1:00am. I was on the sofa, working away on my laptop and watching Friends. My better half was in the back of the house working in the office. He came down the hallway and said in a hushed voice so as not to wake the kid, “I’m heading to bed.” “I’m right behind you,” I said, as I powered down my system. He went into the bathroom and started the usual routine–use the toilet, wash up, brush teeth, etc. And it was my turn to do the perimeter check. Once I knew the house was secure, I called the dogs and sent them down the hall towards the bedroom.

Can open, worms everywhere…

I stopped at the bathroom so that I, too, could wash up. As I pushed open the door, I saw that he was still in there, simultaneously brushing his teeth while taking a leak. At this point, I should’ve been impressed that he was multitasking. I mean, it’s a pretty elusive skill, especially at that late hour. But I was too overcome with nausea to appreciate it.

I have no way of knowing for certain how long I’d been standing in the doorway, like a deer in headlights, with my bottom jaw dropped. Apparently, it was long enough for him to take notice. He looked at me. His eyes darted back and forth between my stunned gaze and the ceramic cup on the vanity that currently housed 3 of the 4 toothbrushes that belong there. And then it clicked. He stopped scrubbing his teeth, and through a minty foam-filled mouth said, “Did I grab your toothbrush?”

I don’t know what happened. I was speechless.

He casually finished his business, rinsed the brush, and dropped it back into the cup. “Sorry,” he said, as he turned to leave. “I thought mine was the gray one.”

It was right about that moment that I lost my mind. I was overcome with the heebiejeebies and just started laying into him about how disgusting that was and how I hoped he would catch the virus I’d recently had because that would serve him right. I was ridiculous. He tried to talk to me, calmly, sensibly, but I wouldn’t listen. I just kept rambling on and on about what a personal violation this was. Later on, as we lay there in the dark bedroom I could hear him giggle, “You keep an open faced cup of uncovered toothbrushes in the bathroom…the place where people poop…and you’re upset that I used your toothbrush?” Poop spores. This is the last horrifying image in my mind before drifting off to sleep. Thanks, hon.

“Trust” the cup says…please note my toothbrush is now covered.

Just one more reason why I won’t survive in an apocalypse. I have been with the same guy for nearly 17 years. You share a lot in that amount of time. But the mere sight of him using my toothbrush ruined me. I’m sure that it has happened in the past, but I’m a true proponent of the ostrich syndrome–if I stick my head in the sand, I can’t see it. And if I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.

But it doesn’t stop at toothbrushes, oh no. I won’t share drinks with people, either. If you sip out of my glass, chances are I will not go back to that beverage. If you drink out of my bottle or straw, watch closely. I won’t freak out like I did as a child. I will watch you from the corner of my eye, like a dog. And as soon as you finish, I will casually wipe it clean. As a kid, my older brothers taught be about “backwash” and it’s been more of a phobia than a pet peeve ever since. I won’t even drink the bottom of anything (seriously, I have to be extremely thirsty and also psych myself up for it in order to drink any cup, glass, mug, or bottle to the bare bottom). I won’t share a spoon with you either. Not even my kid. It used to make me gag, watching other moms eat off their baby’s spoon while feeding. I vurped a little bit just thinking about it.

How can I possibly expect to survive? I’m sure I’d have to learn to deal, especially if my life depended on it. I’d carry my own toothbrush on me at all times. And I’d have to learn to get past the whole drinking thing. It’s funny, actually, because I like kissing. I was a kissing bandit in my younger days. Hell, my guy can put his tongue in my mouth, but if his mouth touches my toothbrush….There is something so wrong with me.

Why doesn’t this work?

And speaking of something wrong with me, I have a complete inability to urinate outdoors. Correction, a complete inability to urinate anyplace that isn’t a toilet. I even have trouble with those cups at the doctor’s office. I would be the member of your Z-team that has to either find a toilet, or completely secure an area so that I can undress from the waist down in order to take a pee. I just can’t seem to do it without wetting my own feet. And I can’t be the only woman that has issues with this. Rarely in post-apocalyptic cinema or TV do we see a woman have to drop trou and go. But we see men grab a tree or a bush whenever the urge strikes. It must be nice. In fact, the only instance that comes to mind is the episode of The Walking Dead when Lori has to do the pregnancy test. She peed like a champ! That’s one of the rare moments that I was in awe of her.

We went camping a few years back. Our tent pad area had some rail ties around it to keep it elevated. We arrived at the site at sunset and quickly set things up. We ate our dinner by the fire. Things were perfect. And then it was bed time. My bladder was about to explode. Everyone–husband, kid, even the dog, had already peed, probably numerous times. I finally decided it was time to try. It was so dark out, I knew that no one from the nearby camp sites could see me. I walked behind our tent and stood on one of the rail ties. I had it all planned out that if I stood on the edge of the wood like that, when I squatted down, I would be sort of, you know, hanging off the side so to speak. So I tried. And I did it. I had peed outdoors and kept my feet dry! I was so proud of myself! I came back around to my family, beaming with pride. And as I took my place by the fire I realized something didn’t feel right. It turns out I had peed all over the cuffs/calf area of my jeans. The only pair of jeans I had with me for this quick 2-night excursion. I did have sweat pants to change into for sleeping in. But it meant putting on stinky pee jeans to wear the next day. Every time I had to relieve myself for the rest of the weekend, I would hike to the public restroom (which was so nasty). Chicks who can pee outdoors are my personal heroes. And zomg…does anyone poop in the apocalypse?

Guys, seriously, when the Z hits the fan, either do an exceptional job of keeping me safe so that I can continue to be the brains of the operation, or just put me down. My quirks will only get us all killed.

Stay tuned for next week’s Friday Free For All, when we discuss the 5-second rule and yet another reason I probably won’t survive the apocalypse.